


it's...

by sunflowerseed



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 08:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17280911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerseed/pseuds/sunflowerseed
Summary: He beckons him over and to his surprise, Arthur listens. He shucks one arm free from his shirt and raises it to expose the skin over his ribs. He pulls tentatively at the tape holding the gauze there but Eames brushes his fingers away. ‘ Let me.’ He holds his breath as the tape comes loose. The ink is still fresh and in dark contrast against Arthur’s skin.





	it's...

Eames is trudging down Ronald Ngala, burning up in the Kenyan sun, in what he has come to realize was a poor choice in attire because he can feel sweat dripping between his shoulder blades and down his left side. He’s arrived slightly early for a job he agreed to do months ago so he’s splitting his new found free-time between betting shops and the racing track.

made some poor decisions last night, Arthur texts.

He was supposed to have been on a job in the Philippines for the rest of the week and was due to arrive in Nairobi next Wednesday. Arthur isn’t one to text Eames until the job he’s on is finished unless he’s facing certain disaster that is. So it goes without saying that Eames is slightly concerned to be hearing from him this early on.

whts hppnd? Eames responds.

He takes off his hat to fan himself with and regrets it immediately but persists nonetheless. It’s an agonizing wait for Arthur’s response and Eames is pushing into Mozart Bet when his phone dings.

got a tattoo.

As it turns out, Arthur is the last to arrive with a perfect tan and his sunkissed hair loose against his forehead. His suit jacket is folded over the top of his carry on and his shirt sleeves are folded to his elbows. There’s no ink to spy on either forearm and as much as Eames loves to fantasize he knew it would never be in plain sight. Arthur is and has always been a man of discretion.

‘ Arthur.’ He says leaning back into his desk chair with a shit-eating smile.

‘ Eames.’ Arthur says back before beelining to Cobb’s desk to start an argument about God knows what.

The team retires for the night at 7 and Arthur drives them back to the hotel in his rental because he’s the only one with sufficient foresight. They ride the elevator in veritable silence. Ding, woosh, bye, see you later, ding, woosh, get a good nights rest, ding, woosh, Arthur follows Eames to his room.

‘ Come on, then.’ Eames says as Arthur shuts the door.

Arthur gives him a look and Eames can’t help grinning. He’s thrumming with anticipation and he’s using every ounce of control in his body to stop himself from undressing Arthur himself.

‘ Come on.’

Arthur shakes his head but his fingers go to the buttons of his shirt. ‘ Patience is a virtue, Eames.’

‘ Of which,’ Eames sits on the end of the bed and bounces a little. ‘ you have absolutely none.’

He beckons him over and to his surprise, Arthur listens. He shucks one arm free from his shirt and raises it to expose the skin over his ribs. He pulls tentatively at the tape holding the gauze there but Eames brushes his fingers away. ‘ Let me.’ He holds his breath as the tape comes loose. The ink is still fresh and in dark contrast against Arthur’s skin. It’s Eames’ given name in a small barely legible script obviously taken from some note Eames had left for Arthur at one point or another. He stares at it a moment before glancing at Arthur, who’s suspiciously focused on analyzing the irritated skin around it.

‘ Is it supposed to be this red?’ He says falling just short of prodding it with the tip of his finger.

‘ Don’t touch.’ Eames breaths.

Eames rubs at the tacky residue left behind by the tape on Arthur’s skin and sweeps his thumb hesitantly under the reddened skin, tries to ignore the warmth pooling in his chest. Eames has always known that beneath the thinly veiled layers of contempt and indifference Arthur felt something but now he has certain proof. And because of it, the anticipation he felt has eased into something quiet and reserved. It’s a brownstone in London and a loft in New York. It’s colds and stomach bugs and birthdays and anniversaries. It’s family and it’s a cat and it’s children (maybe, maybe not). It’s security and it’s comfort and it’s…

‘ Did it hurt?’ Eames says touching Arthur’s stomach.

Arthur glances away from it to look at Eames. ‘ I was drunk out of my mind.’

Eames smiles and pulls Arthur down for a kiss. 

‘ Where do you want yours then?’ He says into his cheek and Arthur pulls away to look at him.

Eames wonders why he looks so surprised. ‘ You don’t have to-‘

‘ Don’t be daft, darling. I’d’ve had it done across my forehead already if I hadn’t thought it’d scare you off.’

Arthur smirks because he loves to be wanted, especially by Eames. ‘ I don’t know… Your shoulder or your thigh, maybe.’

He collapses into Eames’ lap and then collapses into the mattress. 

Relief, Eames thinks. ‘ I’ll remember that.’


End file.
